by Ami Polonsky
“You guys are so weird,” I told Mom and Annabella, knowing they’d both take it as a compliment, as I grabbed another cookie off the plate.
“Thank you,” they replied in unison.
DAY 20
I lay in bed, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, as I stared at the glow-in-the-dark solar system on my ceiling that Max had given me right before he left for college. Just when things had started to feel like … something with Essie, I’d ruined it.
I turned over, trying to get comfortable. The question she’d asked me earlier that day about GLOW membership was totally normal: When do we stop trying to get new members and move on to other stuff?
I could have so easily said, We’ll move on to other stuff soon, but we’ll never stop trying to get new members.
Instead, I’d acted weird. I didn’t want to have to explain to her that even though I loved being an advocate, I hated that I had to explain my existence; even though I loved being the poster child for the Happy Nonbinary Kid, I was a happy nonbinary kid plus a million other things. When I was with Essie, I just wanted to be. I wanted her to like me. Like, like me like me. The way I liked her. And it felt like maybe she did. Or she had.
Until this afternoon.
DAY 21
DAY 22
“So we’ve never actually talked about it—the gender stuff. You know. How I am. What it’s like.” My heart was thudding, leaking beats of red and blue electricity, as we sat on my living room floor.
Essie tilted her head to the side, waiting for me to go on. Fazed but unfazed. Perfect.
“It’s just that I sort of have to be an advocate sometimes. Like, raise awareness and educate people, which can be exhausting and annoying. But at the same time, I kind of love it. It’s weird.”
“I get that.” She scratched Froggy’s nose, never taking her eyes off mine.
“And I have to bring people together, so nobody feels alone,” I continued, handing Froggy over to her. She took him gently. “I mean, people need to know that lots of people like me exist. I’m not that unique.”
“Okay,” she replied. “You just always seem so comfortable with yourself. I didn’t think the gender thing was an issue for you.”
I got the sense that Essie saw me as way more together than I felt. I took off the Sox cap that Max had sent me from Chicago and ran my fingers through my hair. “It’s not,” I told her truthfully.
“I’m confused,” she said, smiling a little, like she didn’t really mind being confused.
“Can we be confused together?” I asked her.
“Forever.”
“Or,” I said, “at least until you ditch me in December.”
DAY 23
I waited for Essie on the corner. It was the first cool night of the year and I tucked my hands into my sweatshirt pockets. I kind of couldn’t believe that Mom and Dad had agreed to let me out this late at night to show Essie the moon.
“Come on, Marianne, it does look really cool tonight,” Dad had said to Mom, winking at me like he had my back.
Up ahead, a thin figure in flip-flops and sweatpants, black against the deep-gray sky, turned the corner, waved, and sped up.
“You got out of prison!” I joked when she crossed the street. She smelled like shampoo. Behind us, the moon was a tangerine slice in the crook of a tree branch. It brightened the tree, the street, her. “Turn around,” I told her.
She did, taking a tiny step closer to me because she wanted to be near me. The ache in my chest returned.
“Whoa,” Essie said, looking up. “That’s incredible!”
DAY 24
DAY 25
I stood in front of my mirror, ran some gel through the long part of my hair, and adjusted my unbuttoned flannel over my tank top. Turning to the side to assess my level of awesomeness, I said my daily silent prayer to the God of Chest Size that mine wouldn’t get too much bigger, because this sports bra I was wearing, with its cool Nike swoosh on the front? I could totally handle it. No problem. A bra bra? That would be a different story.
Then I went to the front porch. To wait for Essie.
When she arrived, we ducked through the bushes to Annabella and Damien’s yard, where we lay back in their hammock. The gentle swinging should have been calming, but instead, my heart thumped, reminding me of Froggy when she used to freak out in her cage when we first got her. Calm down, Ollie, I told myself forcefully. Remember your four, seven, eight breathing from health class. I inhaled for four counts. Held my breath for seven. Exhaled for eight. Turned to Essie. “Hey,” I whispered. The moon was a pale crescent. It made her eyes shine.
She turned to me, the shine disappearing into shadows. “Hey.” I looked at her lips, gray in the night. So close to mine. I felt like Essie could see all of me—even the parts I couldn’t see. And she liked everything. It was perfect. Except I didn’t know what to do next. So I looked back at the moon. She did the same, leaning her head against mine.
DAY 27
It was 10:45 on Saturday night. I couldn’t sleep. When the light faded completely from my glow-in-the-dark stickers, I got up the nerve to text Essie. You up?
I practiced my deep breathing and thought about the electromagnetic pulse. The red and blue electricity. The doorway that Essie was pulling open.
What was the deal with the doorway, anyway? I mean, what was behind it? As Essie cracked it open, energy leaked out of me like I was a radio and the energy was radio waves, or like I was a fire and the energy was heat. It made the air around me hum and waver and glow, just like when you turn on a lightsaber.
My phone buzzed. It was Essie. You still there?
Yup, I replied. I’m here.
DAY 28
The spinny-spin whirled through the darkening night. It was humid; the air hung in a mist around us and the electric waves bursting from my body bounced off minuscule water particles in the haze, creating something amazing—invisible but amazing. And obvious.
Until … it wasn’t.
The electric glow flickered, like something broke the spell. Or, like someone broke it.
I turned to Essie and the droplets of light fell. I imagined my glow-in-the-dark stars plunging to Earth. I couldn’t read Essie’s face, but she had pulled the doorway wide open and words—labels for ideas and feelings that I hadn’t thought of since before I’d come out as nonbinary, back in fourth grade—covered me. I wanted these words; I needed them. But something didn’t feel right. That something was coming from Essie.
The words buried me, just as my lips touched hers.
DAY 29
When Mom came in to tell me to hurry up or I’d be late for school, I was still in bed, my pillow over my head. “I can’t go,” I told her.
“Why not?” she asked quickly, trying (failing) to sound calm. “Did something happen with Essie last night?”
I thought of the kiss—of how it seemed like it was going to be perfect, until something had shifted in Essie. And how that something had to be the fact that I’m nonbinary. I mean, I knew that Essie didn’t generally dislike me because of my gender. But it had to be the reason why she didn’t like me like me.
I didn’t answer Mom, and in the moment of silence, I could practically hear the gears rotating in her brain: Aha! I knew something was going on between them and Essie! OMG, something went wrong … It’s probably gender-related. THEIR SELF-ESTEEM!
“Do you want to take a mental health day?” she asked fake calmly.
I moved the pillow. “Can I?”
She smiled, sat down, ruffled my hair. “Sure. Want to talk about anything?”
“No,” I said, probably too quickly. “Thanks, but no.”
Later that morning, Mom sent me over to Annabella and Damien’s with banana bread.
“Perfect timing,” Annabella said when they answered the door. “I just got off a work call, and Damien isn’t teaching today. Dame! Ollie’s here!” they called down to the basement. I noticed that Annabella didn’t ask why I wasn’t at school, provi
ng that Mom had definitely told them something was up.
“Annabella,” I asked them when we sat down at their kitchen table, “do you ever feel overwhelmed by all the things in your head?”
Damien poured us hot water for tea. Fancy.
“Always,” they said. “Careful, it’s burning.”
“So … I can see the steam. I am thirteen,” I reminded them (not) jokingly.
“Seriously,” Damien chimed in, rolling his eyes at Annabella. “Ollie, you should try woodworking. Best therapy ever. Want me to show you a thing or two?”
“Really?” I had told Ms. Rose I’d finish the video we’d been editing to advertise GLOW on the school website, but … the thought of making something—with my own two hands—seemed like just what I needed. “Sure!” I told him.
DAY 30
When I’d gotten home from Intro to Woodworking with Damien, Mom looked calmer. Or, at least, more like her typical self. “Hey!” she’d said, catching me before I could disappear into my room.
“Hey.” I’d been picking a splinter out of my thumb.
“I just got off a call. So the Sociology Department has been thinking for a while that they’d like to sponsor an event at your school. We were able to get a permit for December fourth to march on campus. You know, like a pride event. Any interest in doing the planning and heading it up with GLOW?”
For a second, I’d felt … something. It was like Mom was reminding me of my role as the Happy Nonbinary Kid. But then I’d reminded myself how lucky I was to have an over-the-top supportive family. And of how much I liked being a happy nonbinary kid. I mean, it’s who I was. Except for when Essie wasn’t enjoying our kiss because she wasn’t attracted to me.
It was confusing. Also, I hadn’t seen Mom in full-on protective-mother mode since fourth grade, when I’d come out as nonbinary. GLOW had grown into something awesome since Mom had given me the idea to start it as a way to channel the elementary school crap into productivity. So, even though I didn’t mean it completely, I’d said, “Thanks, Mom.”
Then I’d gone to my room, texted the whole story of the terrible kiss to Lucy and Savannah, and waited for three o’clock when their afternoon classes would be over and they’d be allowed to turn their phones on again.
At lunch on Tuesday, I made the announcement to the members of GLOW: “What do you think about an event sponsored by the Sociology Department, on campus, the week after Thanksgiving? A Thankful for Pride event!” I watched Essie as I spoke. Her eyes followed me, just like they always had. She seemed to still like me; like me like me, even. But obviously, based on the kiss, I was reading her wrong.
DAY 32
DAY 33
“Did you ask her to come to the planning meeting?” Savannah prodded as I shoved my sweatshirt into my locker before social studies.
“You’re such a bully,” I joked, running my hands over my newly cut hair. I loved the extra-soft spiky feel. “I asked her.”
Savannah gave me a thumbs-up. “And she’s coming?”
“She’s coming.”
“Are we actually going to plan for the march, or are Luciana and I just going to watch you guys stare at each other?”
I laughed, even though it wasn’t exactly funny, because I didn’t understand what was going on between Essie and me. “I guess we’ll find out soon.” I wiggled my eyebrows at Savannah.
After school, Lucy, Savannah, Essie, and I walked to my house. I tried really, really hard to calm my hyper-Ollie brain as we fed Froggy some alfalfa and opened a box of cookies, but I could feel my mind starting to wander: I mean, what had gone wrong when we had kissed? And, somewhat related, was it possible that people were surrounded by invisible, magnetic dust and maybe, every once in a while, a person with a certain, special type of positively charged dust might come across another person with a certain, special type of negatively charged dust, causing their entire beings to pull together and—
“Does that sound good to you, Ol?” Savannah asked, wiping a cookie crumb from her lip.
“Um…”
“To start a to-do list,” Lucy added, helping me out, trying not to smile.
“Great idea,” I said, grabbing a notebook from my backpack and writing Thankful for Pride Event across the top. When I looked back up at Essie, her head was bent slightly to the side, like she was trying to figure me out.
DAY 34
“How’d you get into woodworking?” I asked Damien once we’d attached hinges to the box that he and I had started making the previous Monday. I’d spent the entire morning in his workshop carving a design onto its cover with the pyrography pen. A fire-writing pen! How amazing was that?
“I needed a hobby. Teaching at the university is stressful. There’s something about making something—”
“With your own hands?” I interrupted.
“Totally.”
“It gets you out of your head,” I continued.
He laughed. “Maybe you’re actually my mini me!” I liked that idea. I mean, I liked the idea of being his and Annabella’s mini me.
We called Annabella downstairs to check out the finished box. “Wow!” they said.
“Thanks!”
“I meant ‘Wow, you still have ten fingers,’” they joked. “Seriously though? It’s great!”
“Yeah, and I’m usually a terrible artist!”
“Woodworking uses a whole different set of brain muscles,” Damien explained. “So what are we—I mean you—going to make next?”
“I have no clue.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait for the muse to bring you an idea.”
DAY 36
DAY 38
After school, I brought Froggy out to the back porch, pulled the baby gate across the top of the steps so she wouldn’t escape, and set her down on a chair. Then I pulled two apples out of my hoodie pockets—one for her, one for me. My phone rang as I took a bite.
“Hey, O!” Lucy said as I answered her FaceTime call. She was in the school gym.
I propped the phone on an empty chair so she could watch Froggy nibble her apple. “When’s your game?” I asked.
“Not for five minutes,” Savannah said, her face joining Lucy’s on the screen. “Hi, Frog! That’s plenty of time for you to spill it, Ol. What’s going on with Essie?”
I shrugged, chewing, thinking about the fact that Lucy and Savannah and I pretty much only talked about Essie these days. “No idea.”
“She totally still likes you,” Lucy told me.
“Loves you,” Savannah chimed in.
“Loves you,” Lucy agreed.
“Weird, right?” I asked as Lucy looked behind her at the stands. “Who are you looking for?”
“Nobody,” she answered, grinning, as Savannah grabbed the phone.
“Peter,” Savannah whispered, laughing.
“Peter?” I asked, picking up the phone. Lucy liked Peter Mason? When did that happen?
“Shush,” Lucy insisted to me.
“You think if Peter is in the stands, he’s going to hear me on your phone?” I teased, while suddenly feeling like an outsider to Lucy’s life. “Hey, when did you start liking him?”
“We have to go. Coach is calling us over,” Savannah said. “Later, O!”
“Later,” I said, hanging up the phone. And why did Savannah know about this crush before me?
DAY 40
DAY 42
I looked at the bulletin board on my wall—at the picture of me and Lucy, back in fourth grade, each holding up a giant slice of pizza. At the blue Field Day ribbon I’d won for the 100-meter dash in fifth grade. The Worst First Kiss Ever was like a doorway that Essie had pulled open, revealing a path that led backward, to elementary school. Instead of doing my algebra homework or revising the GLOW mission statement that Ms. Rose had helped me write, I opened my laptop and googled Rumble Peak Amusement Park. I scrolled through some images, but looking at the rides and attractions made me feel anxious and nauseous. I closed the computer.
“Do you think it’s strange that I’m a girl who likes boy things?” I remember asking Dad back in third grade. It must not have been long after Mom had taken me for my first big haircut, because that was when I’d started to get questions from people at school (which was annoying) and misgendered as a boy in public (which was awesome). Dad and I had been tossing a baseball in the yard.
“There’s no such thing as—” I remember him starting, but I’d cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, there’s no such thing as ‘boys’ things’ and ‘girls’ things.’”
“Did someone say something to you?” he had asked.
“People always say things to me. About having short hair, and wearing boys’”—I’d cut myself off—“clothes from the quote unquote boys’ department,” I’d corrected, tossing him the ball.
“Nice throw!” Then he’d asked, “Do you think it’s weird?”
I’d caught his pop fly. “Yeah, maybe, but in a good way. I’m good weird.”
He’d laughed, catching my grounder. “Good weird, huh?” he’d asked. “That’s a good term.”
I opened the computer now to my math assignment, but I couldn’t focus, so I wandered into the kitchen, where Mom was checking her email.
Dad was at the stove stirring some weird-smelling soup. “Dad? Do we still have our baseball gloves?” I asked him.
He looked up from the pot. “I’d imagine so,” he said. “Maybe in the shed?” Our shed was home to all the world’s grossest animals: mice, raccoons, spiders … so many spiders … “You want to toss the ball around?” he asked.
“Maybe some other time. I was just wondering.”
“Hey, Adam,” Mom interrupted, “when’s dinner going to be ready? I want to hop on a quick call with Walter.”